Virginia City: Healing,Feeling, Part1
by fragrantfields
Summary: Continuing the Deadwood prequel: Trixie tries to recover from her previous trauma to go back to her usual profession. Al tries to manage a joint not his own. The Gem crew continues to come together while Trixie sees Al in a new light and an opium haze.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: the Deadwood prequel continues. Trixie continues to try to put her trauma behind her and get back to the only work she knows: whoring. The Gem gang continues to pull together with the help of couple of Virginia City folks. Trixie sees Al in a new light, but it's still through an opium haze.

**Virginia City **

**Part One: Healing**

Cora appeared relaxed, half-reclining with elbows propped behind her on the polished bar, studying the room. The subtle jerking at the hem of her satin skirt was the only movement that betrayed her anxiety, all of her worry relegated to one twitching foot. The heel of her leather boot clicked over and over against the wooden leg of the barstool next to her. Without turning around, she spoke to the young man behind the bar.

"Time?"

"Twenty-five minutes, Miss Cora."

Cora thought Johnny must have made a mental mark on the clock when Trixie had gone into a room with the older businessman. She looked over the ginger-haired young Southerner. _For all his apparent dimwittedness, he's quick to calculate times and numbers when it comes to whore-running._

"Good. I can't keep putting her out there, then pullin' her off the floor when she gets balky. How'd she look when they went in?" Cora's foot kept tapping as she talked.

Johnny thought a minute, looking for the right words. "She looked like she was going pretty easy. She'd been talkin' him up for a while before. Laughed a few times with Mr. Barstow before gettin' down to business." He returned to polishing the glass in his hands.

"Mr. Barstow seemed in a good mood?"

"Ain't never seen him in a bad mood, Miss Cora. 'Cept when he came here when Elijah was in charge."

Cora nodded to herself. Elijah had drawn in some new faces, but his practices had sent more of their old customers to other joints. Mr. Barstow was of the brigade that seemed to be drifting back, drawn by the recent changes. And possibly by her healing body…Mr. B had absented himself from Daisy's since Cora had not been quick enough to turn down the lamp and he had seen her bruises. He'd tipped well that night, and she'd not seen him again until Elijah was dead.

She realized she was now tapping her foot to the rhythm of the piano instead of her inner anxiety. She scanned the room from one side to the other, calm returning as she noted the orderly way things were running tonight. Liquor was flowing freely, as always, and her spot-checking of the till looked like the tallies were running true. She pulled aside one of the girls and whispered an instruction. A few minutes later, she saw two dealers switch tables with no protest from them or their players.

A satisfied smile played over her face. The signs that this was a square house again were adding up. She ran her hand over her satin skirt again, feeling the lump of her hidden purse hanging from her waist. Swearengen had his quirks, but he knew how to turn a profit with an eye towards the long run.

.

"Lookin' for some company, Miss?"

She recognized the low rumble at her ear before turning her eyes to the man beside her.

"Lookin' for a drink, and waiting on some good news_, _Mister," she teased.

Al smiled at the petite madam. "Johnny, two over here." He leaned up against the bar next to Cora.

"How's tonight?"

"As you see. Tables look good, liquor and pussy are doing better than last night. We're getting some of the old crowd back in, them that went elsewhere after Miss Daisy passed."

He drank and ran a finger over his moustache. "Good crowd, that's returning?"

"Yeah, freer-spending and not so quick with their fists."

He looked into his glass, pointedly looking away from the whores' rooms. "How's she doing?"

Cora looked at his profile, trying again to suss out his feelings for the blonde whore. "She's doing better. She's in with Mr. Barstow now. He's a good gent, easy with the girls. Had no use for that cocksucker Miss Daisy spawned. "

"Point in his fuckin' favor. Other girls touchy about her not takin' her turn?"

She looked away. "Them that were lucky enough to not catch Elijah's eye had sense enough to have a care for them that did. Nobody's begrudgin' her taking some time. Too busy counting their blessings."

He nodded, then straightened as the door with the "Girl In" sign opened.

An older silver-haired man in a neat waistcoat and jacket came out. He smiled and said a few words of farewell to the smiling blonde whore in the doorway before she shut the door again.

"Mr. Barstow!" Al called across the crowded, buzzing saloon.

"You have the advantage, sir." He made his way over, curious but no unease about him.

"Al Swearengen, Mr. Barstow. I'd like to buy you a drink."

Mr. Barstow looked at Cora with a raised eyebrow. At her encouraging smile, he leaned against the bar and nodded. "Appreciate that, sir. What's the occasion?"

"Just trying to get to know my clientele, as I'm runnin' things here for the time being."

"Good luck to you, then. Not that you'll need it to do better than the last one."

"So I hear. How'd that one treat you, then?" Al nodded towards the closed door.

"Trixie? She was fine." He examined Al's face, looked at Cora, then back at Al. A wary look came into the older man's clear brown eyes, then faded as Cora gave him a nod.

"She seemed a little cautious at first, but that may have been my perception, thinking on what some of the girls went through after Miss Daisy's successor took over. After we started to get to know each other, she was everything a man could ask for, from a young lady offering company."

Al smiled at the man's courtly ways. Cora had chosen well at setting him to Trixie.

"Mr. Swearengen, may I ask what the outcome would have been, had I a complaint?"

Al shrugged. "Put her to other tasks and try again another day."

Mr. Barstow nodded. "Humane, practical response." He smiled at Cora. "Good to see this place is back in proper hands." A shadow crossed over his face before he returned to his previous pleasant demeanor.

"You been a long-time customer?"

He smiled, remembering. "Indeed. I had not been here long, just barely hung out my shingle, when Daisy set up shop. I did a couple of contracts for her, my partner and I came here on many an evening…it was a good association for us both." His smile faded. "It didn't take more than one visit after her scoundrel son took over, for me and my associates to swear off Daisy's."

Cora ran a finger down his lapel. "But now you'll be spreadin' the good news, right, Mr. B?"

He held her finger lightly, stroking the top of her hand. "Absolutely. May I ask if you'll be off the floor, as madam, Cora?"

She looked up at him under lowered eyelids. "I'd consider entertaining a few special gentlemen, Mr. B. You, chief among them."

He looked over at Al. "Nothing against Trixie, Mr. Swearengen. Cora…we've been acquainted for quite some time, and I'd give her my custom as long as she'll see me."

Al raised an eyebrow. "No problem, my good man. May I ask what drew you to Trixie tonight?"

The lawyer looked down at Cora. "She asked me to." He looked back at Al. "Now, may I ask you a question, in private?"

"Over to the office, then." The two men made their way through the crowd to the back office.

.

Once the door shut, Mr. Barstow started in. "I suspect that the legality of your running this place is somewhat up in the air."

Al stood behind the oak desk. "You get right to the fuckin' point, don't you? How do you mean?"

The man ran his hand through his thick silver hair. "Forgive my abruptness. Things can move quickly in this town." He straightened. "I suspect Daisy meant to change her will prior to her passing. She had asked for an appointment before I had to go back to Philadelphia for business. I meant to meet with her upon my return, but she had already passed, with her last will standing. Thus, Elijah," he sighed.

"Elijah died intestate, with no next of kin that I know of. No one has filed for title, or new licenses. I personally think Cora will be a fine manager, but as far as I can tell, you've assumed ownership with no legal authority, which may be fine for a short period, but won't pass muster when word gets out."

"Yet no one challenges me when I deposit the contents of my till every day."

Mr. Barstow sat, adjusting his pant legs to maintain the pressed seams.

"Which may very well continue, but not forever."

"What if a will were found, leaving this joint to Cora?"

He looked puzzled. "I was Daisy Winters' lawyer, and, as I said, she died before we could meet about that."

Al leaned forward. "What if a will was found, done in her own hand, witnessed by two residents? Prepared by her in your absence, hidden by her worthless son upon her death?"

"I…it would be unlikely."

"Fuck "unlikely". Would it pass? With your endorsement?"

Mr. Barstow leaned back, suspicion lighting his eyes. "Would not such a document leave the property to you, you acting as de facto owner already? You could prove an acquaintance with Miss Daisy, I'm sure."

"I could, but that's not to my purpose. Again, would such a will be valid?"

"Is it in her handwriting, recognizable by someone who knew her?"

"It will be in a hand you, as her attorney, will recognize as hers, unless you're a goddamn fool who doesn't care as much for Cora as you imply. If this joint goes up for grabs, you think there's any fucking chance Cora will be able to hang on to it, this comes to the big money's attention?"

"I see," he sighed. "I find the definitions of right and wrong shift, the further I get from Philadelphia. Or maybe…I'm just getting old."

"I would hope some wisdom is coming along with age."

Mr. Barstow stood. "I hope so, as well, Mr. Swearengen. Cora will give you directions to my office. Bring whatever written will you find first thing tomorrow." He opened the door, then turned. "Just…make sure, at least, that the ink is dry."

.

A few minutes later, Al called a brusque "Yeah!" to a soft knock on the door.

"What was all that?" Trixie slipped into the office.

Al paused before speaking, carefully looking over his girl. Her visible bruises were gone, her arms bare and her chest showing down to her nipples. She had given the fripperies she had worn to Dolly, dressing for the evening's work in a white cotton petticoat and tan brocade corset. Her shawl, thrown over one shoulder in the heated saloon, was crocheted in shades of cream and tan. Her red stockings were the sole splash of color in her garments, keeping her from looking like a half-dressed innocent.

"She speaks! She shows curiosity!" He looked up at her, mouth between smile and smirk.

"Fuck you, Al. Guy goes from my pussy to your ear, I wonder what's going on, is all."

"No worries, Trixie. He gave you a favorable report. Sounds like you're back in play."

She pulled a cigarette from her bodice, holding her hand out for a match. He struck one from the box on the desk and held it out to her. She held his hand steady and lit up, taking a deep drag.

"He was a nice guy. Cora said he'd be mindful of my injuries."

"You blow him, or give him a ride?"

She tapped the ashes off the end of her smoke. "Both. It ending with fucking, as I imagine that's your main fuckin' question."

He looked relieved. "So…you okay? Everything back in workin' order, on your end?"

She looked at the tip of her cigarette. "I find myself wondering why you don't already know that, given that I'm sleeping next to you every night."

"Didn't want any ill will entering into the matter, maybe givin' you the idea you're less ready than you are."

She smirked. "So, instead of fuckin' you, better I start out again with a _nice_ guy? That your point?"

His face clouded over. "You fuckin' _sound_ back to your old self. See if you can earn your day's keep between now and midnight, you being so fuckin' fully recovered."

She stubbed out her cigarette and stood. "Okay if I ask your boy Dan to find me some dope while I take the next one?"

"Yeah, tell him I said it was okay." He turned back towards the books that had been left a mess by Elijah.

"Oh, and Trixie?"

She paused at the door.

"Moderation, huh? I got a busy morning and I'll want my prick sucked when you get in. Don't get too fuckin' high."

She turned so he wouldn't see her fleeting sneer. "You're the boss, Al." She tugged her shawl over her other shoulder.

_You're the fuckin' boss._

_._

_A/N: Any and all feedback, comments, and concrit very welcome!_


	2. Chapter 2

Virginia City, Healing, Feeling

Part 2: Feeling, Fleeing

_There'll be a clandestine meeting with Jack tonight, mayhap roaming rough hands in a dark back room, to take the edge off the day_, he thought, as he crouched on the riverbank, ready to finish his task. The sooner finished, the sooner he could be warmed by the solid feel of gold in his pocket.

The man at his feet had stopped moving at least three minutes ago. Al now concentrated on seeking a pulse, looking for any movement in the chest. The man was still as the grave.

It had been a shock, that the man's eyes had remained open after all breath had left his body. Al had imagined suffocation would be more like sleep. Instead, the man had clawed and arched, his face remaining under the thick flannel cloth. A bloodless death, somehow more ghastly than death by the bloody draw of a blade.

Al had put out a hand to close the eyes, then stopped. He had no idea if a drowned man would have open or closed eyes ._Fuck it…let the river bury the details,_he thought.

He did a quick check for blood or flesh under the nails, then thought again of the river. He had chosen a likely spot, where the water turned to froth and the current looked swift and strong. It had gone quickly. The poor sap never saw the heavy driftwood that laid him out long enough for a quick drag through the bushes and a speedy undressing down to his swimming suit.

Al wondered what offense the man had given, that such a handsome sum was put up for his murder. He considered the undercurrents of Virginia City and decided no offense was necessary at all, other than the man must have stood between power and profit.

The man's wrists were cooling quickly. Al grabbed them and began pulling. A few short steps and a final push, and the man was face down In the water, riding along the current. The knock to his head had not had time to swell before Al's flannel had stopped his breath and his heartbeat.

Watching the body catch briefly against an exposed root, he could see no obvious signs of foul play. Whether a doctor would or not…he figured that would depend in part on who was paying the doctor's fee. It had sounded like enough was being spent in that area to ensure a conclusion of accidental death.

The body slipped free of the root and floated on down river. Al watched until it was out of sight and then walked back to town, fingers itching in anticipation of his fee.

.

.

"Where the fuck have you been? What time is it?" Trixie propped up on one elbow as he unlocked the door and came into the room. She yawned as she watched him take his strong-box out of the closet.

"It's early yet. Go back to sleep if you like." He turned his back to her as he took out the small sack of gold and bills and stowed them away.

Trixie stretched while she yawned again. Her thin body looked almost lush to him as she flexed and curled under the blankets. He paused as he unbuttoned his shirt. Visions of pale cold skin came back to him, final struggles under his hands, a last gasping breath, and that endless wait for unwelcome signs of life. He thought of her heat, and her living pulse.

"On second thought, go visit the water closet if you need to, then come back to bed."

She raised an eyebrow while she squirmed out from underneath the covers, clumsy from her last hit of laudanum before bed.

"What?" His look was forbidding and hot. He could feel everything shriveled inside him from his morning beginning to unfurl again. He needed something to put up a final barrier between him and his work at the river. A morning fuck with no chatter would maybe put away the feeling of waiting for that heartbeat.

"I didn't say anything." She slipped into the fancy water closet for an early morning piss.

After washing her hands and face, she considered, then left off her night shift. She opened a small unlabeled jar Cora had given her and dabbed the oily cream between her legs. It had made her night considerably easier after she got back on the floor. Wouldn't do much for the ache in her muscles, but if he was quick, maybe she could catch a nap before work.

Al was in bed when she returned, long underwear unsnapped and open, blankets thrown back.

"Sure you wouldn't rather I suck your prick?"

He grabbed her wrist, looked at it a moment, practically transfixed by the veins he imagined were humming under her warm skin.

"No." He didn't look up. "Over or under?"

She could still feel the weight of bodies on top of her, from last night and nights in the past, making her struggle at times to get a deep breath.

"Over."

She got up on the bed, straddling him, guiding him into her, the slick cream easing the way.

She looked down. His eyes still held that dark, bloody look he got after a night spent at his other work. She wished she could see what he was looking for, when he looked at her like that. She began moving, lightly posting up and down, one hand balanced on his broad hairy chest. Most men looked at her tits when she was on top, either admiring or wishing they were bigger. Al, though..._he looks like he's staring right through my tits, tryin' to see my beating heart. _She shut her eyes for a second against that thought.

His fingers dug into her hips, then opened and ran over her warm, dry skin, drawing her heat into his hands.

_He looks so fuckin' needful today._

He was beginning to be suffused with her warmth, spreading from his prick through his belly and chest. He was breathing harder now, images of the oddly unmarked dead man receding as he focused on the sensations his thrusting and her grinding produced. He looked up at her face. She was looking at him with a detached vague concern, faint practiced smile on her lips.

He caught the sight of the bottle by her side of the bed. The level was lower than he would have liked.

Blood running hotter now, he thrust hard up into her. "You awake, Trixie? You're not in some fuckin' dreamland?"

She started, his harsh words and the sudden deep penetration focusing her with a jerk. "No, I'm on your fuckin' dick." All traces of her dreamy half-smile were gone.

"Go under, now." He moved her with his body, hands holding her tight at the hips. She rocked her shoulders a couple of times to get comfortable before giving him a tentative look.

"Can you...give me some breathin' room, Al? Go up a bit?"

He nodded, but didn't move, wanting to keep the heat of her body on his chest. Finally he shifted back on his knees, bringing her with him, balancing her on his thighs.

She startled again as his arms went around her back. Rare, for him to want this much contact. She looked into his eyes, less forbidding now, still solemn.

Her smile returned as his movement began stirring more pleasurable feelings within her body. She ran her hands down his back, his arms, feeling the muscles hard under smooth skin and coarse black hair.

"No whore's tricks, now," he cautioned.

She moved against him. "No tricks." She wondered briefly at his holding, almost cradling her, then gave her mind over to the feelings he was drawing.

"You getting' enough air? Breathing okay?" He continued to hold her so he put no pressure on her chest. He thought he would have to stop, become unmanned if she began gasping for air.

"I'm good." She smiled, taking some unexpected pleasure in being able to look into his eyes like this.

The solemnity fell from his face then. The thin shining threads of the good that was between them, be they ever so fragile and few, began thrumming to their rhythm. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, one hand wound deep in her soft tangled hair. He fucked against the mental image of her lying still and cold, each deep glide into her warmth a reassurance of her living, breathing presence.

A stray thought went through her mind: _Must be this new way of fuckin'_, she thought, as the feelings built with her moving tight against his belly. A sweet, feathery orgasm ran shivering through her body as she gripped him tight, pulling his head harder against her neck.

He stilled for a second, then pulled his head back, meeting her eyes. "Did you just..._come_?"

He resumed a subtle movement, just enough to keep his edge, as he looked at her, her eyes half-closed and slumberous.

"I believe I did."

"Huh. Don't usually see that without being from your own hand or another's tongue."

"Ain't you the chatterbox this morning?" She leaned back on the bed, encouraging him to go deeper with her hips.

He braced himself then, going hard into her heat for a minute before pouring himself into her, face back at her neck.

She held him as he shuddered longer that usual, She heard murmured words through her hair.

"What?"

He got up abruptly, pulling himself from her warmth.

"I said, "I...like you bein' so...alive" and such." He turned from her, thinking on the day's work, the business, the money in his strong-box. "You know, the fanciful shit people say when they're fuckin', as I'm sure you've heard your share." He cleaned himself, began pulling on his clothes.

_Never heard all that...not from you,_she thought.

She got up and went back into the water closet, and began a more thorough washing-up for the day.

.

.

Her splashing and the heavy door muffled the sounds of men talking, boots hitting the floor, metal rattling. All her parts clean and ready again, face and teeth fresh, she came back into the room, then froze.

Al, his clothes, his knife, boots...all gone. The closet door stood open.

She had just finished buttoning her daydress when she heard a heavy knock on the door.

"Trixie! Open up!" A low rumble, sounding like big Dan.

She opened the door, standing aside as he pushed in. "Dan? What the fuck...?"

"Listen...Al had to get gone quick." He looked back in the hallway. "There's gonna be the law here any minute. Now, he was in here with you, all fuckin' night, all morning until a few minutes ago, never even left to go piss, right?"

She nodded, worry running over her features.

"Yeah, look like that, like you're worried about him, afraid they're here to tell you something happened to him."

"So where the fuck is he?"

"Don't worry about that. I'm gonna go help him get out of town as soon as I get the others ready with their stories."

He caught the start of a tear in her eye, looked at the tumbled bed, got the whiff of sex in the air. Her visible worry took on a new cast. _Looks like the boss got some forgiveness._

Then he heard boot heels in the street outside, men talking about a body, a river.

He came close to her ear. "We're meetin' up with him in Cheyenne, is the plan. And keep it to your goddamn self, you don't want to see him hanged."

She nodded, then looked back at the bed as Dan closed the door behind him. She mixed a new day's dose of laudanum as she heard boots on the stairs, composing his alibi as she drank.

Author's note: There have been liberties taken with this part. Although not named, the dead man is loosely based on a composite of a couple of the "Big Four" banking interests, principally William Ralston, the cashier of the bank of California, which opened a branch in Virginia City after the Comstock strike. After the bank failed as a result of various nefarious stock and price manipulations by the other members of the Big Four, he went for his morning swim in the San Francisco Bay (not a river near Virginia City) went out as far as he could, and drowned either from a stroke or suicide.

From the accounts of threats made by his competitors, hiring someone like Al to fake a drowning seemed quite in character of the Big Four.


End file.
